)rnia 
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THE  LIBRARY 
OF 

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OF  CALIFORNIA 

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L  f'.A  ,J&&('.< 


Entered  according  to  the  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  I860,  by 

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PRINTED   BY   AT.VORD. 


A\ 


762951 


• 


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groves    were    God's    first    tem 
ples.      Ere   man   learned 
To  hew  the  shaft,  and  lay  the  architrave, 
And   spread    the   roof   above    them, — ere 

he   framed 

The  lofty  vault,  to  gather  and  roll  back 
The  sound   of  anthems ;    in   the  darkling 

wood, 
Amidst    the    cool    and   silence,   he    knelt 

down, 
And     offered    to    the     Mightiest    solemn 

thanks 


And   supplication.      For   his   simple   heart 
Might   not   resist   the   sacred  influences, 
Which,    from   the   stilly  twilight   of  the   place, 


And    from    the    gniv    old     trunks    that 


high    in    heaven 
Mingled   their  mossy    boughs,    and  from 

the   sound 
Of  the   invisible    breath  that   swayed    at 

once 
All    their   green    tops, 


Stole   over   him,    and 


His    spirit   with    the    thought    of 

boundless   power 
And    inaccessible    majesty.       Ah, 

why 
Should   we,    in    the    world's    riper 

years,   neglect 
God's     ancient     sanctuaries,     and 

adore 


Only   among   the    crowd,    and   under 
That   our    trail    hands   have    raised? 


frf 

xVt    nie,   at    least, 
Here,    in   the   shadow   of  this   aged   wood, 
Offer    one   hymn — thrice   happy,    if    it    find 
Acceptance   in    His   ear. 


Father,    thy    hand 

Hath   reared   these   venerable   columns,    thou 
Didst   weave   this   verdant   roof. 


didst    look  down 
Upon   the   naked   earth,   and,   forthwith,    rose 
All   these   fair  ranks   of    trees.      They,    in   thy  sun, 
Budded,  and   shook   their  green   leaves   in   the  breeze, 
And   shot   towards   heaven. 


I?  century-living  crow, 
Whose    birth    was     in    their    tops, 

grew   old   and    died 
Among  their  branches,  till,  at  last, 

they  stood, 
As    now    they    stand,    massy,    and 

tall,   and   dark, 
Fit   shrine   for   humble    worshipper 

to  hold 
Communion  with    his   Maker. 


12 


These   dim   vault? 


These    \vindiny  aisles, 


13 


If    human    pomp   or   pride 
Report  not.     No  fantastic   carvings  show 
The  boast  of  our  vain  race  to  change  the 

form 
Of  thv   fair   works. 


H 


thou   art   here— thou    fill'st 


The   solitude.      Thou   art   in   the   soft   winds 
That   run    along   the   summit   of    these   trees 
In   music;    thou   art   in    the   cooler   breath 
That   from    the   inmost    darkness    of    the   place 
Comes,    scarcely   felt ; 


barky  trunks,  the  ground 


The   fresh    moist 


ground, 


Are   all 


instinct 


With    thee. 


s    continual    worship ;— nature,    here, 


In    the   tranquillity  that   thoti    dost    love, 


Enjoys    thy   presence. 


9    around, 


From   perch   to   perch,  the   solitary  bird 


Passes;    and   yon   clear  spring,   that,    midst  its   herbs, 


Wells    softly  forth   and  wandering   steeps   the   roots 


half    the    mighty  forest,   tells   uo   tale 


Of  all  the   good  it 


does. 


Thou   hast   not   left 

Thyself    without   a    witness,   in   these   shades, 
Of    thy    perfections. 


strength,   and  grace 
Are   here   to   speak   of   thee.      This   mighty   oak — 
By   whose   immovable   stem    I   stand   and   seem 
Almost    annihilated — not   a   prince, 
In    all    that   proud   old   world   beyond   the   deep, 
E'er   wore   his   crown   as   loftily  as   he 
Wears   the   green   coronal   of    leaves   with   which 
Thy   hand   has   graced  him. 


at    his    root 

Is    beauty,    such    as   blooms   not   in    tbe    glare 
Of    the   broad    sun.      That    delicate   forest   flower 
With    scented    breath,    and    look    so    like   a    smile, 
Seems,    as    it    issues   from    the   shapeless    mould, 
Au   emanation   of    the   indwelling   Life, 
A    visible    token   of    the    up-  %*v^ 

'1 

holding   Love,  //\  / 

That     are    the    soul    of    this 
wide   universe. 


'  U     heart    is    awed    within    me    when    I    think 

Of  the   great    miracle 
still    goes   on, 

In    silence,    round    rne — the  perpetn 
work 

Of    thy   creation,    finished,   yet   re 
newed 

For  ever.      Written    on   thy  works 
I   read 

The   lesson    of   thy   own  eternity. 


all    grow    old     and 


die — but   see   again, 


How    on    the    faltering    footsteps    of 


decay 


Youth-  presses — ever    gay    and    beau 


tiful    youth 
In   all   its   beautiful   forms. 


lofty    trees 

Wave    not   less    proudly  that   their   ancestors 
Moulder   beneath    them. 


1 

M    >    there   is   not   lost 
One   of    earth's   charms :    upon    her 


bosom    yet, 


After    the     flight     of     untold     cen 


turies, 


The   freshness   of   her   far   beginning- 


lies 


And   yet   shall   lie. 


If? 


mocks    the   idle    hate 


Of    his    arch    enemy   Death— yea,    seats    himself 


Upon   the   tyrant's   throne — the   sepulchre, 


And    of    the    triumphs   of    his   ghastly  foe 


Makes   his    own    nourishment.      For   he   came   forth 


From   thine    own    bosom,    and   shall   have   no   end. 


27 


There   have   been    holy    men    who    hid   themselves 

Deep   in   the   woody   wilderness,   and   gave 

Their   lives    to    thought   and   prayer,    till    they   outlived 


generation    born    with    them,     nor 
seemed 

Less    aged   than    the   hoary   trees   and   rocks 
Around  them; — and  there  have  been  holy  men 
Who  deemed  it  were  not  well  to  pass  life  thus. 
But  let  me  often  to  these  solitudes 
Retire,   and   in    thy  presence   reassure 
My  feeble  virtue.      Here   its   enemies, 
The   passions,   at   thy  plainer  footsteps   shrink 
And  tremble  and  are  still.    Oh,  God  !  when  thou 
Dost  scare  the  world  with  tempests,  set   on   fire 
The  heavens  with  falling  thunderbolts,   or  fill, 
With    all   the    waters    of  the   firmament. 


20 


The   swift    dark  whirlwind   that   uproots  the   woods 
And   drowns   the   villages ;    when,   at   thy  call, 
Uprises   the   great   deep   and    throws   himself 
Upon   the   continent,    and   overwhelms 
Its   cities — 


forgets    not, 
'v. 

at   the   sight 
Of    these     tremendous    tokens    of 

thy   power, 
His    pride,    and     lays     his    strifes 

and  follies   by  ? 
Oh,    from     these     sterner     aspects 

of   thy   face 
Spare   me   and   mine, 


let   us   need   the   wrath 
Of    the   mad   unchained   elements   to   teach 
Who   rules   them.       Be   it   ours   to   meditate, 
In   these   calm    shades,   thy   milder   majesty, 
And   to   the   beautiful   order   of  thy  works 
Learn    to   conform   the   order   of  our   lives. 


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